


Sit Back and Watch The World Go By

by Nimravidae



Category: Stardew Valley (Video Game)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, No ACTUAL fucking but PLENTY of discussion of fucking, Sebastian Is Not A Morning Person, lots of talk about sex, morning snuggles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:21:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23778319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nimravidae/pseuds/Nimravidae
Summary: Sebastian is not a morning person - no matter how hard Alex tries.
Relationships: Alex/Sebastian (Stardew Valley)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 85





	Sit Back and Watch The World Go By

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pajama_cats](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pajama_cats/gifts).



> Pajama_cats! A very very very belated birthday to YOU. Thank you so much for being such a wonderful supporter and for writing that adorable fic. I really just - my heart explodes for you and I hope you had a wonderful birthday <3
> 
> This is my first solid real foray into Alex POV so I hope you enjoy. 
> 
> Titled as such because I was listening to Jackie and Wilson by Hozier

Sebastian is not a morning person.

This isn’t a surprise to Alex—not really, at least. He kinda guessed it from the first time he saw him, well once they were adults. Sebastian had been standing there, those dark bruises under his eyes and a perpetual sneer cutting his expression. 

He looked jagged, like a pile of twigs pulled out from under the porch come springtime—a whole bunch of broken things all tied together at once. 

Like he didn’t get enough sleep—like he _never_ got enough sleep.

And, well, so what if Alex was right. He knew what he was getting into the first time he kissed Sebastian, right? The guy was forthright, if anything, with exactly what Alex could expect from him—late nights, late mornings, the glow of his computer screen as he stayed up working as silently as he could from the distant corners of his bedroom.

Back then, back when it was the two of them hiding away in Sebastian’s basement bedroom, Alex used to stay awake as long as he could to watch the profile of him, watch the way the blue light made him look sharper. More like broken things. 

He used to force himself to stay awake at _least_ until Sebastian felt guilty enough to crawl back into bed with him, drape his skinny body over Alex’s chest and tuck his chin into his collarbone. That was one of his favorite parts of the night—even the nights like that when they’d spent the whole afternoon fucking on and off—the part where Sebastian just laid there, letting Alex’s fingers trail down the knotted vertebrae down the length of his pine and smooth over the sharp points of him, as if he could take in all the pointed edges just to make sure Sebastian never fucked up and cut himself open on the corners of himself.

He used to.

Living together kind of shot that one in the ass. 

Now Alex goes to bed when he does, alone more often than not, and wakes up with a warm body pressed against him—all gangly-limbed and drooling on his shoulder. 

The same body that’s currently splayed, stretched as wide and as long as he can go, across the whole of the bed—tiny snores muffled into the pillows as his feet tangle up the navy blue sheets they’d compromised on months ago.

A body that’s supposed to have gotten up like fifteen minutes ago.

A body that’s gonna make them late to the beach with Sam and Abby. 

“Babe.” Alex leans in the doorway to their bedroom, eyes flickering to the well-packed beach gear just over his shoulder, and passes the rapidly-cooling up of coffee from one hand to the other. 

Sebastian doesn’t so much as _stir._ He clears his throat and says, just a little bit louder. “ _Babe.”_

He’s not a morning person.

Alex knows the kind of guy he is, he knows the kind of stuff he knows. It doesn’t take a genius to know he’s done some stupid stuff, said dumb things. But of all the crap he’s done—waking Sebastian up before noon _without_ coffee is pretty high up there in terms of the _dumbest._

The glare alone could shatter lesser men. 

Luckily, Alex thinks, as he steps further into the bedroom, mug setting neatly on his own bedside table. Luckily, he’s not exactly breakable. 

The mattress squeaks, a little dip and give as Alex gets his knee up on it, one hand slowly rubbing down the length of Sebastian’s back. “Seb, babe,” he says, voice low and soft. “C’mon it’s time to get up.”

All he gets in return is a muffled noise, nuzzled into the pillow. It’s a sleep-filled movement, not quite yet proof that Sebastian is awake enough to actually _hear_ him. But he’s getting close, pushing back faintly into the hand rucking up his t-shirt with every pass. 

The movement does, however, twist Sebastian’s face enough to expose the stretched-out collar of his shirt and the pale expanse of his neck. 

Alex leans in, lips pressing in the sleep-warm crook of him. “You gotta wake up,” he tells the soft side of his throat. “Or we’re gonna be late.”

That noise is far more interested. Sebastian’s legs stretch out, his entire body twisting towards Alex. 

Sebastian is not a morning person, but sometimes—if he’s in the right mood—Alex can convince him to be a morning person. 

He lowers himself down onto the bed, sliding into place as Sebastian rolls onto his side. He fits perfectly behind him, hand sliding around to rub low on Sebastian’s chest as Alex buries another kiss against his throat. “I know you’re tired,” he says, chin hooking over his shoulder. “But we promised.”

“ _You_ promised.” It’s barely audible as Sebastian’s breath hitches around a minute groan, one hand bumping, uncoordinated and bleary, along Alex’s arm until he’s reaching back, rubbing at his shoulder. “I didn’t do shit.”

“I have the texts,” Alex tells that spot just under his lip, the one with the scar that Sebastian once told him was from a botched attempt at a lip-ring—and if Alex thinks back, between the flashes of gut-wrenching in the locker room in highschool, between the heart-racing adrenaline rush of gridball, he thinks he remembers it. A flash of silver caught between Sebastian’s teeth in the hallway, too many years ago to remember _when,_ really. 

“You don’t have anything on me.”

“You told Sam last night that you would absolutely meet them on the beach by quarter-to-noon.”

Sebastian stretches, one of those long, sinuous, movements that Alex can’t get enough of. He pushes his hands up over his head, a long arc of bone and skin—sharp edges, cut lines. _Does he know how hot he is when he just woke up?_

What a dumb question, of course he does. He has to. Alex tells him almost every morning. Usually with his words, sometimes with his mouth too busy to talk.

He’s always hot. He’s always just the right kind of sexy that makes Alex want to flex his hands against his hips and push him back down into the bed and kiss him _stupid._ Kiss off that scowl he always wears and make him get that dusty-pink look to his cheeks.

Kiss some color into him, or something. 

The stretch pushes parts of him against Alex, the sharp point of his shoulders and the backs of his legs—tangling them together until Sebastian settles back down and buries his face right back in his pillow. 

“Sam knows I’m a liar.”

“Yeah but _I’m_ not.” He moves his lips to this spot on Sebastian’s neck. It’s just under his pulse point, where he’s soft and tired still. Alex always kisses before he nips, a bit of a warning before he catches the sleep-warm skin with his teeth and draws a wrecked groan from low in Sebastian’s chest.

A hand bumps back, stumbling along until he’s rubbing Alex’s thigh, blind and aimless. “Keep that up and we’re not leaving this bed.” 

Alex huffs a laugh against his throat, grinning at the way Sebastian’s hand tightens in response to the wash of warm air. “Are we?”

“Maybe.”

He nips again, gentle because he’ll never hear the end of it from Sam and Abby if they both show up late, Sebastian bruised from collar to jawline. 

Alex keeps a hand low on Sebastian’s stomach, sliding up to his sternum then back down, in slow, long cycles. “Or you can get up, we can go have fun, and then we can come home and stay in bed.”

“I guess. Or.” Sebastian pushes himself back, his back folding perfectly to Alex’s front. “Bed.”

“Beach.”

“Bed.”

There’s enough clarity to his voice now that Alex can tell he’s definitely fully awake—even if his eyes are still shut, the hint of a smile at the corner of his lips. The kind that Alex is helpless to do anything _but_ pull back and kiss. 

He peels away, ignoring that rumbling low in his blood that _begs_ him to stay. To crawl back into bed and pull Sebastian flush against him, slide his hand down, and let them both get nice and messy. 

The second he’s up, standing on his own two feet in the middle of their bedroom, Sebastian rolls onto his back, frowning up at him. “You’re the _worst_ kind of tease. You know that, right?”

Alex shrugs. He knows. He definitely knows. Because Sebastian always tells him and because, well, he likes teasing him. He likes when Sebastian is strung out and begging, when he gets all whiny and needy.

Who wouldn’t? 

“Come on, we should leave in like half an hour. There’s coffee on your nightstand.” Some little part of himself, the kind that gets restless without stuff to do, stoops down to pick up the socks he’d kicked off the night before, tosses them into the hamper before hooking his fingers into the handles of two empty mugs on the dresser. 

“I’m so tempted to dump you over this.”

Alex gestures with the cups. “Of course you are, I’m the worst.” 

By the time he’s finished washing out the remnants of yesterday’s coffee and the two blue-and-black mugs are sitting neatly on the drying rack, Sebastian shuffles out of the bedroom. His hair is no better off than it was before, and he’s wearing a hoodie over his sweats—but Alex takes it as a win. 

“It’s summer, babe,” he says, drying the warm, soapy, water off his hands. 

Sebastian just bumps his head against the space between Alex’s shoulders, arms wrapping around his middle. “I know.”

“You’re gonna be hot in your hoodie.”

“I’m not going to wear it out.” There’s a muffled yawn, buried in the fabric of Alex’s t-shirt. “Just until we’re ready to go.”

The forehead against his back turns into a nose, and then a cheek, rubbing its way to Alex’s shoulder and then the crook of his neck. Alex feels Sebastian adjust against him, arms tightening around him. 

“I can’t believe you left me in bed.”

He hums, dropping a hand to rub over Sebastian’s. He loves his hands—he loves his hands _a lot._ His spidery fingers and delicate wrists. Alex isn’t above fantasies about them—he wasn’t before they were dating and he isn’t now. He tangles their fingers together, drawing one of Sebastian’s hands up to kiss the center of his palm, all the way down to the vein nest of his wrist. “Wasn’t easy,” he says.

“We can always go back.”

The offer is low, warm and suggestive as Sebastian drags his nose along the side of Alex’s neck. It makes him shiver—it _always_ makes him shiver and Sebastian knows that. He knows the brush of his morning-rough jaw against the sensitive spots of Alex’s throat makes his knees go just a little weak. He knows the scrape of nails against his stomach—even through the thin fabric of his t-shirt—floods him with an icy heat.

“Sebastian.” It’s a warning, and a weak one at that.

“What if I told you that Sam texted me and said they’d be late.”

Oh? “Oh?”

Sebastian’s hum is low, rough with the edges of sleep that haven’t quite left him yet. “He said he’d bring lunch for a picnic on the beach if we promise not to be too mad.”

Alex curls his fingers around Sebastian’s, tilting his head back to glance at him. “How much longer do we have?”

“Like forty-five minutes.”

He weighs it up in his head—crunching numbers was never his strong suit, but part of being such a great gridball player was knowing the moves he could make. Adapting to how long was left in a quarter, how far he could go, what he could do with the time they had. 

The only difference here is accounting for the come-down, for the clean-up, for the second-wind burst that always catches them when they’re in the middle of it and _always_ ends up with someone in a lap or up on the ledge of the bathroom sink.

“Plenty of time,” he decides, turning around in Sebastian’s arms to kiss him once—deep and long and right. They’ll have to nix the second round. “Back to bed?”

“Absolutely.”

**Author's Note:**

> I PROMISE I'll update refounding before the world stops ending. I used to write in a particular chair in an office I'm (fairly because pandemic) not allowed to go into anymore :upside_down smile:


End file.
